


Your Past Is Your Maker

by sillsif



Series: The Past (RP related) [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight (2008), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Past Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:53:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sillsif/pseuds/sillsif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a past. There is not escaping it for it was what made you who you are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crows

**Author's Note:**

> Related to an ongoing independent RP under the name crane-jonathan on tumblr.

Jonathan Crane was never wanted. Not that he cared if the world wanted his existence; not now, he did not need somebody to need him to exist. But it was a fact, a fact could not be altered no matter how much he hated it.

The very first human memory of his was blurry; perhaps he was still too young for details, perhaps he simply deceited himself that he could not remember at all. One thing was certain. He did not remember anything related to the concept of happiness. His parents did not want him, so as his father found out about the pregnancy, he took off without a word, leaving his mother there, all alone. What was she supposed to do? Crane could imagine how the woman would argue against him if he were to confront her, the images in his head extremely sickening.

There he ended with his great grandmother most of the time, not really having much contact with his mother. His great grandmother did not like him, for some reason he could not understand, somehow religiously related. Perhaps it was superstitious of her the blame the boy for unfortunate happenings, yet it did not matter the reason why, since the damage was done.

How did he survive all those crows’ attack? How did he survive the night? He only remembered himself being dressed into a Scarecrow costume, not able to move at all as being tied to the cross, then the door closed. It was a church, some church which looked like more of a ruin. There were these crows which eyes glowed in the dark. He was too frightened to scream and the smell of the unknown chemical on the mask made him sick.

The night was long, yet it was merely a start of the torture he was going to experience.


	2. Toxins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Related to an ongoing RP under the name crane-jonathan on tumblr.

Crane thought he would just die there, pain all over his body, still not able to escape even those birds had attacked him so fiercely for the whole night. His eyes were dry, also his throat, sore and hurting. For a whole night he was crying for help, yet nobody came. Of course nobody would come, it was a distant hidden church. He did not even want to know why his great grandmother knew the place.

As the birds stopped attacking, dawn slowly came in and poured soft sunlight into the church. Thing brightening up, Crane finally could see what a mess the place was. Of course it was not a popular church, at least not for human. He saw some of the birds resting on the backs of the chairs and some on the railings, then one particular crow looked into his eyes, those eyes which were bloodshot red and tired. He felt something special, since no one had ever looked into his eyes with such pure intention - just looking, no hate nor disgust.

It was some neighbours who discovered him, some other religious neighbours which went to the church to pray, then screaming as they heard this ‘living scarecrow’ calling for help. He could not live in the village anymore, his great grandmother would not let him sleep in the house. He could wander around just if she was not aware; it was quite easy for him to sneak around, given her poor hearing and his lack of weight.

One thing which made him curious was the smell from the suit he was forced into. He slept in the fields with the scarecrow and the birds at night, not one night did they attack him as they did in the church. While everything remained constant, the only variable was the smell and the place. One day he discovered a room in the basement while he was hiding from his outraged great grandmother, the room filled with the horrible smell of unknown chemicals. He looked around, covering his nose with his hand yet the smell was so strong it barely helped. He heard voices and saw visions, them being more and more alive as he stayed longer.

He ran, out in the broad sunlight yet the visions did not go. The birds chased him again, pecking at him. He could not stop them, his heart racing with fear. Nor could he resist the urge to go back into the room, trying to find out what were those tanks filled with. That was the first time he discovered something that could take control of people’s mind. That was the first time Jonathan Crane discovered toxins.


	3. Blue Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Related to an ongoing RP under the name crane-jonathan on tumblr.

The news spread as if it were a disease, yet the news did not bring pain to those who heard of it; the pain was brought back onto Crane. Crane was not a strong child, nor was he healthy. Those sticks and stones could have killed him, fortunately he had, thanks to his horrible great grandmother, been well accomplished to protect himself from assault. But it still hurt. It hurt very much, a voice asking why in his head.

So they said Jonathan Crane was an evil spirit. They said only by sending him away - whether to another town or to hell, it did not matter to them - could the village have good harvest and bright future. Crane did not care, he thought, moving to another town might be the best thing that could happen to him in his life. It was, in the end, if he now considered what a man the change had made him into.

At first it was not as unbearable as he thought. People still teased and taunted him, chasing him around then tying him up on lampposts or poles, dressing him up as a Scarecrow. Crane would never know how they figured out his nightmares, it was probably some haters from his village. But it did not matter.

Crane started studying science. Chemistry and biology, combined to be perfectly powerful a weapon for him. He never forgot the smell of toxins in his great grandmother’s basement. He never forgot how it felt to be taken over by toxins and losing his mind. He made sure that his lucky experiment subjects did not forget, too.

The only thing was how to veil his identity. Once he fought back and gave one of his assaulters an injection, which left him in a painful seizure accompanied with hallucinations, then he ended up more beaten up by the others. His physical strength was not his advantage. It nourished the hate between them. He was still merely being self-protective, but that ended as he came across Beckett.

Highschool was a terrible place for him. For reasons related to his research on psychology and toxins, Crane never did manage to eat properly, ending up being scrawny and frail, yet those blue eyes never ceased to get attention. Crane never did understood peoples’ interest in him, apparently not understanding when they dragged him to a classroom, not to beat him up but to dress him up. It was humiliating, putting him in a dress. It was back then, now Crane had learnt how to not fear anything and take them as a weapon to himself.

But back then, it was painful. It was disgusting, the things they attempted to do and words they said. Crane of course was not just laying there to be humiliated. He was waiting for a chance. When the thugs woke up the next morning, they were tied up to the tables and chairs, heads towards the floor so that their brains were hurting with the constantly inflow of blood and the horrifying visions.

Where was Crane? Crane was safe, at last, yet after confronting the pedophile headmaster. Back then he was not yet a headmaster, merely a teacher coming out of nowhere, not that Crane cared. The pervert was apparently drunk as he bumped into him in the corridors, too terrified to speak, Crane attempted to bolt away but then got grabbed and shoved to the wall. His head was spinning due to the impact, then his senses were blurred - perhaps it was a defensive mechanism, because it would be to traumatizing to remember every sensation - he was outraged, more than he could tell. The weight was both physical and mental, too heavy it was that it took him quite some time to get away from the drugged unconscious man. He had no mercy at all, injecting another fear toxin into Beckett, leaving the man in cold sweat for a few days.

He sat in the shower for hours. He burnt the dress, he sat there naked, holding onto himself, no sound but the sound of water falling. He could not tell between the shower water and his tears, nor did he hear himself sob. He was broken, angry and frightened, not knowing where he should go this time; or even if it were possible to go anywhere.

He decided to flee back home, somehow, a small part of him would rather go back to his great grandmother, rather being tied up as a scarecrow than to be here with disgusting people. But he did not realise, he had changed. He would not be the kid being tied up and screaming for help anymore.


	4. Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scarecrow is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Related to an ongoing RP under the name crane-jonathan on tumblr.

Crane actually did exceptionally well at school. He was inevitably intelligent, so accomplished in the field of science that he had been offered with the chance to enter the Gotham University, the best education one could get. If it were the Jonathan Crane back before he was tied up as a scarecrow and left to be attacked by crows, this opportunity might have changed his life; he would be a successful psychiatrist, he would cure numerous troubled patients. Yet that Jonathan Crane never existed.

Crane was fueled by hatred and grief during his highschool years, biased yet some of those most powerful drives, he did not let the chance for him to access to a higher form of education. More access to rare resources, that would be very useful to his research. Yet that drew attention, bad attention. Although he had his toxins, assaults would not stop coming for him. He did his research in low profile, being careful that no one would accidentally find his storage room and his secret place for experiments. Perhaps if they knew what Crane would have become, they would have left him alone.

The assaults finally lead to traumatizing effects to the boy, the hatred built into an enormous darkness. He returned to his origin, just for a signature. He needed the signature so he could directly go to Gotham University, there, not that he expected to have peace, not anymore, he would build himself a path towards insanity. He could have faked the signature, yet he somehow returned to his great grandmother, not with good intentions.

As usual, he made her tea, which she complained to be too bland. Crane remained calm as she yelled, making the tea again, sipping in more spice so she would get the flavour she wanted. Of course he knew how to make good tea, he just fancied the idea that this old woman would not notice his drugging even if it was performed right in front of her face. It was also ironic that the toxin he used was a refined version of hers; that she used to enrage the birds into attacking mode.

It did not take too long for the woman to start shouting as Crane took out the letter, asking her to sign for him. Demon or creep, Crane forgot which word exactly did she use to address him, but he was sure the words from her tongue never were decent to the ear. He tried to convince her, yet his only focus was how her breath quickened as how she started to stutter between words.

He saw the mask, that one he was forced to put on when he was tortured, lying idle on the floor. He picked it up, then the old woman screamed. No, she said, go away. Crane knew was it meant: hallucination. He put on the mask, this time no fear but pure excitement, he walked towards her. She screamed, falling from her arm chair, crawling on the floor. Crane kept pushing her until she was in the kitchen, then she reached for a knife, pointing it towards Crane.

Crane had no fear. He threw a fistful of his spice in her face again, the toxins in the powder form danced in the sunlight which poured through the curtains, looking like beautiful gold dust in the air. They were inhaled, some of them not, landing gently on her dress. She was shivering, lowering her eyes to her stomach.

She saw something there, then she yelled sharply, holding on to the knife with both hands, tears welling up as she shouted, no, I don’t want you inside of me, get out of me, get out of me! She bit her lips, the illusions making her unaware of what was the true happening, not seeing Crane standing there anymore but the illusion of the unwanted birth of her daughter, Crane’s grandmother. Crane would never know why the woman stabbed herself in the stomach so hard. Nor would he understand why she lost her mind and tried to dig out her own guts.

That evening was horrifying, yet Crane just stood there, eyes widened, not knowing what to say. She was dead, those hallucinations killed her. Crane then called the police, faking a shaking voice as he spoke. He was sitting in the corner, shivering as the police arrived to find the dead great grandmother of his, soaking the kitchen with her blood.

Soon he left highschool. His tragic story of witnessing the suicide of his mentally ill great grandmother helped him leave his nightmare, allowing him to start bringing nightmares to the city. The only thing he took from that house was that mask, his mask, the Scarecrow’s mask.


End file.
